


A Father's Will

by goldenteaset



Series: Fate Week 2021 [1]
Category: Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: Abandonment, Action, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inside the Grail, Psychological Horror, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 17:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28674618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenteaset/pseuds/goldenteaset
Summary: In which Tokiomi faces the Mage Killer and the consequences of his own actions.
Series: Fate Week 2021 [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2101584
Comments: 7
Kudos: 22
Collections: Fate Week 2021 Fic Collection





	A Father's Will

**Author's Note:**

> This is certainly a... _grim_ intro to my submissions for Fate Week 2021, but rest assured there will be cheer! I just missed writing the Tohsaka family (and they wouldn't fit in On Chivalry's Blade). ^^; 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own Fate/Zero.

Tokiomi lets Archer go after Saber, confident that he will defeat her handily and acquire the Grail. _As for myself, I have my own prey to hunt._

He takes long, casual strides through the halls of the Fuyuki Civic Center, keeping an eye out for any suspicious activity. Rin and Sakura went missing here once, when he and Aoi took their children to an opera. He can still feel the relief that flooded through his heart when Aoi found them in the restroom, too scared to go anywhere else. _I almost used Familiars to search…thankfully Aoi had a level head on her shoulders._

He pauses and holds out his cane, ears straining to catch any strange sound. The wood-paneled walls that surround him are eerily silent. His eyes naturally focus on the door of the janitor’s office, but it’s clearly locked. _Nothing’s amiss…and that worries me._

With a shake of his head, Tokiomi continues on his way. He _knows_ there’s someone here—he can sense a faint pulse of Magecraft up ahead, fresh and slightly different from anything he’s seen around Fuyuki. As he grows closer, he notices that the lights aren’t on—the only illumination in front of him comes from a neon-green exit sign. And in that light…

Tokiomi furrows his brows and smiles. _A series of trip wires? How unorthodox._ He prepares to set the black crisscross wires ablaze…and reconsiders. _This could be a trap—and Magecraft could be the trigger. In that case…_

He notes the ceiling vent located directly above him and understands. The person who laid the trap is up there, ready to attack at any moment.

He hears the subtle movement of a gun being cocked.

He points his cane upward, lowers his head and mouths the incantation.

A burst of flame _whooshes_ from the ruby and melts the metal above. He can hear a faint cry of pain and surprise, and the much louder _clang-clang-clank_ of someone struggling to escape. _At least that person knows when to retreat…_

He follows the _clanging_ through a door labeled “stairway” and begins his descent. The echoing acoustics of the dull gray walls around him force all his willpower toward the _true_ direction of the noise. After the second set of grey stairs, however, the sound vanishes—to be replaced by that unfamiliar Magecraft, stronger and easier to track. He continues downward with more haste than before.

He reaches his destination—a huge underground room of some kind. His body tense with alertness, he holds his cane before him as he enters, taking comfort from the time-smoothed wood and familiar weight.

Tokiomi flinches as the flat lights above _slam_ on two at a time, flooding the room with clinical white light. Thanks to his earlier preparations, the brightness casts his skin in an inelegant oily sheen. Ah, well. Sacrifices had to be made.

In the center of the room stands a man all in black, from his unruly hair to his leather shoes. He doesn’t say anything, merely scowls and shifts his feet like a starving cur eager for blood.

“Only one person could have eyes as cold as yours…Mage Killer.” Tokiomi easily slides into a dueling pose. “Despite your morally-dubious methods, I’m afraid you won’t gain the Grail tonight. _En ga—_ ”

The Mage Killer draws a gun and fires.

Tokiomi summons a shield of flames. The bullets melt in moments, coating the concrete in bronze puddles. He keeps the shield up; the _click_ of another round echoes around them.

Three rounds and a narrowly missed grenade later, Tokiomi knows what he’s up against: Time Manipulation. It’s a difficult Magecraft school to master, prone to internal damage and short lifespans. It’s the kind of recklessness he wouldn’t expect from a man known for his calculating, ruthless nature. _He’ll truly do anything to win—including putting his own life at risk._

Tokiomi’s lips curl into a smile. _I can work with that._

He begins his barrage with two tendrils of flame—straightforward enough. When the Mage Killer dodges with his Magecraft, appearing to the left, the flames follow him. His blurry form moves right, left, center, backward, forward—and the flames meet him each time. _You can enhance your speed all you like, Mage Killer, but you can’t hide your body heat._

The Mage Killer stops in front of him and smirks. He’s at point-blank range, even without the flames _whooshing_ toward them.

Tokiomi smiles back. _You truly think I came here_ without _fireproofing myself?_ His suit and the “skin-care product” he’s wearing are made for just such an occasion.

As the flames engulf them both, Tokiomi’s gaze drops to the Mage Killer’s blackening hand. The Command Seals are seared there, down to the bone.

_Ah. I’ve played the fool, have I? What a pity._

He hears the gun go off and closes his eyes. _Everything is arranged. I have nothing to fear._

Overhead he hears something shatter. His eyes snap open just in time to see black mud rain down upon them both.

\---

When he awakens, he’s back in his study.

It’s strange—everything is as it should be, but there’s something amiss. He strolls carefully around the room, running his hands along the walls and bookshelves to test their solidity (they are), listening to the familiar _clink_ of bottles as he passes them, and finally sniffing for the scents of dust, leather, parchment and ink.

 _…Ah. That’s it._ He tries again. _There is no scent here. And there’s no heat. Everything is…stale. Lukewarm._

“Hello,” Rin says softly.

Tokiomi snaps his head around to see her. She’s standing at the entranceway, looking cheerful as always. Her twintails bounce as she runs into his arms, and he struggles to keep his balance.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Father!” Rin’s laughter hangs heavily in the air. “Now you can help me.”

He smiles despite his confusion. “Of course I’ll help you. What do you need?”

"Come see!" Rin takes him by the hand and leads him upstairs. She hums tunelessly to herself as they walk, taking the steps two at a time. 

Tokiomi gives her fingers a gentle squeeze and frowns. _I can’t feel any heat from her, either._

They’ve reached the top. Rin lets go of his hand and twirls around the sunroom, her red skirt fluttering.

“…Rin? I have a question for you.”

Rin turns her head, her smile unchanging. “Yes?”

“Where are we? This isn’t our house.”

She giggles—the sound is harsher than usual. “Surprise! I knew you’d figure it out eventually. Look up.”

Tokiomi does—and his heart stops. Through the large window in the ceiling, he sees a black hole, haloed in sapphire blue.

“Could that be—is that _the Grail?_ ”

“Yes.” Rin curtsies, her expression suddenly years older than it should be. “You could say I’m its spokesperson. Oh—would you prefer to see your wife?”

Before Tokiomi can answer, Rin has been replaced with Aoi, who looks upon him with utter benevolence. He _knows_ , logically, that this isn’t really his wife, but…as always, she soothes him, puts him in the right frame of mind for what must be done.

And something _must_ be done. He worked tirelessly toward this day for decades, as his father and grandfather did before him. Everything is riding on his shoulders. He must forgo even the small joys of family _for_ his family. 

“…Thank you. If this is the Grail, then—is it properly filled?”

“It is more than filled,” Aoi’s copy says, hands outstretched. “Come, Tokiomi, give the Grail its form in the world!”

 _I made it. I truly made it!_ Tokiomi wants to laugh in relief, but he manages to keep himself composed.

This inherited wish may end his life, but it won't end his daughters'. That is Tohsaka Tokiomi's sacrifice.

“I wish to reach the R—”

Something light as a moth's wing tugs at his sleeve.

He turns his head and looks down. His heart drops like a stone. “…Sakura? You shouldn't be here.” The cold words scrape his throat like ice, but he must say them. 

Sakura looks up at him, her face stained with tears. “You’re leaving, Father?”

Even after he left her in the Matou’s care, turning his back on her for the last and only time, her question still hurts. It lingered in his dreams, taunted him in his house, cursed him in the empty spot at the table.

He turns fully and kneels down in front of Sakura, cupping her wet cheek. “You’ll be fine. You and Rin are strong girls—you will carry on my legacy with pride.” He proclaims this just as his father did to him all those years ago. 

Sakura shakes her head. “It ended already.”

A thick, fat worm the color of bile oozes from her lips.

Tokiomi recoils in horror as his daughter bloats and writhes in front of him, the sounds of her retching like knives in his ears. He can’t look away as she falls to her knees, clutching her belly. _It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not—it can’t—_

"Father," Sakura sobs, curled up in a miserable ball of pain, "he's hurts me and hurts me and _where were you_ , Father?!" More worms spill from her throat, stifling her pleas. 

“Look what you’ve done,” Aoi says, her voice strained in anger and horror. “ _Look at our daughter!_ ”

He can’t bear the sight. “I…I didn’t know…”

Rin is kneeling by her sister’s side, looking just as lost as him. “Father, help me fix Sakura! Y-You can do it, right? You worked so hard, for so long, there’s nothing you can’t do, right?”

Tokiomi feels like a fool, standing dumbly as his daughters suffer. Black ooze is pouring from Sakura’s shuddering body, coating Rin’s hands and the floor like oil, and he can do _nothing._

“I can’t, Rin. I don’t know how. That’s—this is why I need to reach Akasha.”

“Is that truly your wish?” Aoi asks, her voice now as calm as falling snow. “Will you reach Akasha, and let your family suffer alone?”

Her words give him pause. He looks up at the Grail again, then at Aoi. His head’s beginning to pound. _No…something is wrong. The Grail is omnipotent—why would it ask such a thing?_

He stumbles backward and bumps into a windowpane. He turns on reflex—and catches a glimpse of the Mage Killer, lurching away from a beach stained with corpses, screaming that this isn’t his wish, that this can’t be the Grail.

“Tell me your wish, Tokiomi. _Tell me!_ ”

Tokiomi’s gaze is wrenched away by Aoi’s hands gripping his neck.

“It doesn’t matter if it’s for love or power—set me free from this cage.” Aoi's breath scours his face like the harshest winter wind. “You can even start your life again, and again, as many times as it takes. You’re _powerful_ , you’re _special_ , you’re the only sacrifice left and you still.”

Sharpened nails dig deeper into his skin. "Haven't."

Tighter, tighter, tight enough to break. " _Answered_ me."

He struggles to speak an incantation, to fight her off, but white spots are flickering in his vision—and even if this _is_ an illusion, he can’t seem to unravel it. He smiles despite himself.

 _Perhaps_ this _is my true wish after all._

But something stops him from giving in. Perhaps it’s his not-daughters’ screaming, perhaps it’s the triumph in his not-wife’s cold eyes. Perhaps it’s the memory of Kariya’s worm-riddled face screaming in desperation, or when he left Aoi and Rin behind. More likely it’s all of them at once.

_…There must be other ways to reach the Root._

Mustering all of his strength, Tokiomi kicks the murderous illusion off him. He sucks stale air into his lungs, heedless of the so-called Holy Grail’s hate-tainted words. The world lurches crazily as he struggles to his feet.

Somehow, through the desperation and anguish, he finds he still has a spark of wit. Perhaps it’s the oxygen deficiency. He’ll look back on it and cringe, but right now…

“In the words of the Bard: Grail, ‘Thou art unfit for any place but hell’ _._ _Intensive Einäscherung._ ”

As the illusion scorches and _crackles_ , he takes his leave. He shields his face as best he can and dives from the now-shattered window, hoping desperately that _this_ plan will work.

_Then again, my luck has been so dreadful…heh. Perhaps this is my punishment._

Foolish and wretched, desperate for hope, he struggles on. _Wait for me, Aoi—Rin—_ Sakura _—!_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :D Feedback is appreciated.


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